It might also be helpful to acquaint you with some of the private world of our group members\u2019 therapist: Scott \u201cDr. Matt\u201d Matthews, originator of the Scott Matthews Meltdown.<\/em><\/p>\n The backyard fence belonging to Scott\u2019s daughter, Bobbie, was dry rotting in the harsh sun of South Texas. When she asked for his help to replace it, Scott loaded up his truck and trailer with lumber for the job.<\/p>\n Perhaps he expected the traffic on I-35 in Austin to be less intolerable on a Sunday\u2014the city\u2019s reputation for gridlock traffic is known far and wide\u2014but Scott chose to take his chances on the interstate instead of going the toll road. Predictably, the traffic slowed and stopped over the Colorado River, and the highway narrowed to 3 lanes.<\/p>\n Angry with himself for choosing what he knew<\/em> would be an exercise in frustration, Scott began a temper meltdown. He slammed the dashboard, shouted profanity, and when he scowled at the car to his left, the small child in the front seat stared at him like he was in a freak show at the State Fair of Texas.<\/p>\n Scott closed his eyes, bit his lip, and tried to take a deep breath, but his inner Incredible Hulk<\/em> wasn\u2019t having it, and he pounded the steering wheel with his balled fist. He could feel himself being watched, and when he turned to see the same child observing his tantrum, Scott shot the kid a dirty look that was a metaphor for \u201cMind your own business.\u201d Judging by the child\u2019s face, it was a direct hit.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat a dick,\u201d<\/em> Scott berated himself. \u201cEven kids get the full brunt of your tantrums.\u201d<\/em> Almost immediately, his thoughts went into justification mode: \u201cYeah, but I\u2019m trying to do some good here by helping Bobbie with her homestead. Hell, I should be banking a credit for the <\/em>next time I have a meltdown.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n But Scott knew that the end rarely justified the means in anyone\u2019s eyes but his own. His tantrums were nothing new; his capacity to rage affected all within earshot: his wife, children, students, and coworkers \u2026only his patients (he hoped) were spared the legendary Scott Matthews Meltdown.<\/em><\/p>\n The traffic moved glacially, and with every passing minute, Scott\u2019s contempt for his situation swelled. His daughter was teaching Sunday school, and he knew that she was expecting him to meet her at her church. From there, they\u2019d go to her house to rebuild the fence. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cDammit!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cI won\u2019t make it on time!\u201d Scott hated being late; he preferred to arrive early to everything.<\/p>\n But that wasn\u2019t all that was eating at him: meeting Bobbie at her church made him uncomfortable, because he did not share the beliefs of most religions. While he respected that his adult daughters have a strong faith, he had never been able to comprehend the \u201cmystery\u201d (\u201cMore like myth,\u201d <\/em>he thought,) of life after death. He believed that magical thinking about an Afterlife gave people an excuse to avoid responsibilities in the real world, because they thought they\u2019d be rescued for \u201cEternity.\u201d<\/p>\n The traffic\u2026the tardiness\u2026the perceived hypocrisy he felt in churches: the overload of thoughts in Scott\u2019s head plowed fertile ground for yet another meltdown. He shook his head, ashamed at his behavior and the frightened look on that little kid\u2019s face.<\/p>\n His cell phone rang, and he saw that it was his office manager, Jeanine. Averse to phone usage while driving as a matter of principle (he detested drivers who use their phones in traffic nearly as much as he hated I-35 gridlock), he thought, \u201cOn a Sunday? What could she possibly need? \u2026I\u2019m not answering it.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n The car ahead of him\u2014which Scott had developed an unhealthy resentment for\u2014at last moved forward about a full car-length. \u201cProgress!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cYes!\u201d \u2013at the same time the car on his left containing the sad-faced kid heaved into his lane, and he nearly rear-ended it.<\/p>\n Ahead, he could see the kid\u2019s mom\u2014or whoever she was\u2014lower the visor mirror and, given the movements he could see, he surmised that she was applying makeup. If she could see his face in her mirror alongside hers, she\u2019d have viewed the same look of disgust that he\u2019d fired at the little boy.<\/p>\n The infernal ringing ceased and seconds later, a chime indicated that he had a voice mail. Scott grumbled, \u201cI dream of a day I don\u2019t get phone calls.\u201d He could hear sirens in the distance, and he could see emergency vehicles on the horizon, their flashing lights in a cluster, indicating an accident.<\/p>\n The phone chimed again: Bing-Bong.<\/em><\/p>\n Scott glared and considered throwing the modern day must-have out the window. He growled, \u201cHow much longer do I have to put up with this shit? Come on, retirement.\u201d <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" It might also be helpful to acquaint you with some of the private world of our group members\u2019 therapist: Scott \u201cDr. Matt\u201d Matthews, originator of the Scott Matthews Meltdown. The backyard fence belonging to Scott\u2019s daughter, Bobbie, was dry rotting in the harsh sun of South Texas. When she asked for his help to replace … Continue reading
\n<\/em>The car ahead of him lurched forward, and he followed suit. The phone rang again, and he continued to ignore it. \u201cMaybe I need one of those Bluetooth things, but I\u2019m retiring soon, so it\u2019s not like I\u2019ll be deluged with calls all day…\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe memory of several patients forwarding the YouTube link for an insurance commercial depicting a drill sergeant as a bad therapist <\/a>was fresh on his mind. While he knew that the patients who sent it were only trying to be funny, he found enough of himself in the characterization of the therapist throwing a tissue box at his patient and calling the man \u201cjack wagon\u201d <\/a>that Scott knew he was near the end of doing active treatment.<\/p>\n